Monsoon rain lashed against the window of the KSRTC bus as Dr Ananya Menon stared out at endless paddy fields and coconut palms. At twenty-eight, she had an MD and a well-paid post in a Dubai hospital. She had come home to Alappuzha for a short break, or so she thought.

That evening at their ancestral tharavad, her mother Sulochana pressed a jasmine garland into her hand and whispered:

Anu Mol, Arjun Krishnan Nair, is a Village Administrative Officer in Kandamangalam Panchayat. Good boy, government job, no vices. We’ve fixed your marriage for next month.”

Ananya’s heart sank. She had planned to work with an NGO; marriage was far from her mind. But her father’s eyes pleaded: “This is for your future.” With the monsoon drumming on the tiled roof, she said a reluctant yes.

The temple courtyard in Kottayam smelled of sandalwood and payasam. Arjun, tall and soft-spoken in a starched white mundu, had been told only that she was a graduate who worked abroad. Nobody mentioned she was a doctor.

After the wedding, Sadhyasat on banana leaves, they drove through narrow roads lined with jackfruit trees to Kandamangalam Panchayat, where Arjun had his quarters. Ananya saw an old government school with a leaking roof, a Kudumbashree kiosk and a primary health sub-centre that had been shut for months. Her stethoscope lay hidden in a suitcase.

Life slowed to the rhythm of rooster calls and temple bells. Arjun left early on his scooter to inspect lands, settle disputes, and issue certificates. Ananya cooked puttu and kadala curry, swept the verandah and watched the backwaters glisten. Neighbours dropped in for tea:

• Lakshmi Teacher, B.Sc. Biology was once a science tutor.

• Sreelatha chechi, an IT diploma holder, is now looking after an infant.

• Devikakutty, a civil engineer, is married to a local contractor.

• Fathima Beevi, a commerce graduate running her household.

All had left their careers after marriage.

At night, Arjun found her poring over medical journals. “You miss it, alle?” he asked. She nodded but said nothing.

One humid afternoon, a scream echoed from the toddy shop side. A farmer had been electrocuted while fixing a pump. People ran in circles, crying “Ayyoo!” Without thinking, Ananya rushed over, checked his pulse, improvised first aid and saved him. Word spread like wildfire:

“VAO sirinte bhaarya oru doctor aanu!” (The VAO’s wife is a doctor!)

Villagers began arriving at her porch with fevers, snakebites and wounds. She treated them with the few supplies she had. That night, Arjun said quietly:

“You shouldn’t have to hide what you are. If you want to serve here, njan ninte koode undu — I’m with you.”

The nearest hospital was thirty kilometres away in Alappuzha. Ananya and Arjun drew plans under a kerosene lamp. Land was scarce, funds nonexistent. But Arjun, as VAO, knew about Arogya Keralam and NRHM schemes. He began paperwork while Ananya started an open-air clinic under a banyan tree. Lakshmi volunteered as a nurse.

At home, Arjun’s amma took over cooking. “Neengal work cheyyu,” she smiled. “I’ll look after the kitchen and your baby when the time comes.”

Inspired, the educated women revived their own skills:

• Lakshmi started free evening science classes for schoolchildren at the anganwadi.

• Sreelatha, with her infant on her hip, set up an Akshaya e-literacy centre in an unused panchayat room.

• Devika designed low-cost toilets and helped repair the leaking school roof.

• Fathima formed a Kudumbashree unit to stitch uniforms and sanitary pads.

Their husbands slowly pitched in: ferrying patients in jeeps, babysitting, and contributing materials.

Scenes show their homes as well as their projects:

• Ananya and Arjun cook avial together on Sundays and visit his parents. When their daughter is born, his mother looks after the baby while Ananya runs the clinic.

• Lakshmi’s two children attend the free school she’s helping improve.

• Sreelatha codes from home while feeding her baby; her shopkeeper husband builds furniture for the training centre.

• Devika hires her father-in-law’s masons for construction.

Fathima’s mother-in-law cooks lunch for the trainees.

Instead of losing their families, the women fold them into the mission.

With the hospital running, Ananya realises health alone won’t change the village. Children are dropping out. They convert an abandoned godown into a model school:

• Smart classes through Sreelatha’s IT contacts.

• Science labs with Lakshmi’s input.

• Proper sanitation with Devika’s designs.

• Mid-day meals from Fathima’s cooperative.

They also opened a vocational training centre for tailoring, carpentry, computer skills, and a micro-credit fund to help families start small businesses.

Political jealousy flares. A contractor blocks supplies. Bureaucratic delays mount. Rumours spread about women taking over. In a tense meeting, Arjun uses his VAO authority to get clearances and protect the land legally. Husbands and children of these women come out to clean the grounds.

Within a few years:

The hospital runs full-time with trained local staff. The school produces first-generation graduates. The training centre places youth in Kochi and Gulf jobs. The Kudumbashree unit funds scholarships.

Household roles shift. Men boast about their wives; in-laws encourage girls to study. Children volunteer at the clinic and dream of college.

Onam season. Pookkalams bloom at the hospital-school complex. Fathima Beevi’s cooperative serves palada payasam. The District Collector garlands Ananya:

“This is a model for Kudumbashree-led development.”

Arjun stands with Ananya, their toddler on his arm. Lakshmi’s and Sreelatha’s children recite a Malayalam poem. Devika’s father-in-law sits proudly in front.

Ananya looks around and realises it’s no longer just her dream; it’s a movement — educated women using their degrees for the poor without losing their families.

A Mathrubhumi reporter asks Ananya how she managed it all. She smiles:

“I didn’t do it alone. My husband, my family, these women — we all did it together. Education isn’t wasted after marriage. It multiplies, if you let it.”

Backwaters glisten in the evening light as children stream out of the new school. The temple bells ring, the mosque loudspeaker calls, and in the hospital courtyard, women in settu mundu and hijab work side by side — a picture of Kerala itself.

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